On Direction

I have an impeccable sense of direction.  I’ve always thought it was a New York thing.  I tend to be in charge of leading the pack, and I take extreme pride in that responsibility.  However, since being in South Africa, I’m pretty sure the locals around here can blow me out of the water with their direction skills.  They always seem to know how to get from Point A to Point B without ever having to consult a map and without ever skipping a beat.  I can’t say as much for myself, especially since getting an iPhone a year ago.

Their heightened sense of direction is especially evident when driving in the townships.  Maneuvering yourself through the narrow, winding roads, often with kids and/or animals getting in your way, is definitely a daunting task.  Surrounded by all the spazas and shipping container barber shops/beauty salons, everything look fairly the same.  Yet, when driving around with our staff, they always knew exactly where we were and could give perfect directions on how to get somewhere from that exact spot, never once seeking the help of any kind of map or GPS device.

But then I had this realization: everything looked the same, but only to me.

Our coaches and staff members have lived here for their entire lives.  This is home to them, and they are comfortable here.  They know everything, and they can see the nuances.  I don’t necessarily want to make this an argument for the reason why local grassroots initiatives work, but this kind of inherent knowledge is the reason why they do.  What would take me months or even years to understand, locals have known by virtue of growing up here, and there is immense value in that.

I began to think about the situation differently: what if you plopped one of my South African coworkers (or anyone foreign, for that matter) in the middle of Manhattan?  How would they handle it?  It would probably all look the same to them.  Shiny and incredibly tall metal-and-glass skyscrapers, all lined up in a perfect grid.  It’s monotonous.  But in my eyes, it’s all different.  I can recognize the buildings, and not just the obvious ones like the Empire State or the Chrysler Building.  I’m talking even the unnamed ones, the irrelevant ones.  I’ve seen them all, and I could probably name the exact coordinates of where a building is located, or I sure as hell can get you pretty darn close.  I can probably give you pretty good subway directions of how to get from one building to another, if you posed the challenge.

I realize now that it’s the same for the people I work with here.  Yeah, those shacks all have the same tin roofs with matching solar panels on the top, all are painted with a similar pastel color scheme, and they seem to go for mile and miles.  But it takes a local to notice the little things: the guy who also sits at the corner near the neighborhood water tap, the Kaizer Chiefs or Orlando Pirates emblem painted proudly on a house’s façade, that one stray dog who really seems to enjoy hanging around the little shop.

There are experiences and feelings that people associate with certain places, and its that relationship that helps people to remember where they are.  Yes, these spazas may seem to be the same, but they are all different because of their character.  Because of the memories.  Because of the people inside of them.  Because of the time they used to hang around it after school, still in their elaborate uniforms, and use their spare change to buy a tiny bag of Nik Naks (which are awesome, by the way).  Many people think that having a bad sense of direction is due to a wonky memory, but really, it’s memories (plural) that are at the core of good directions.  It’s not just about brain but also about the heart.

Not too long ago, Claire and I were in the car driving home through the township of Kwazakhele following Siya who was going in a different direction.  He said to follow him until “we recognized the way,” and we were very skeptical of this.  We were on his tail for a bit until I saw a familiar street corner and a large abangcwabi, or funeral home, that I had seen before.  I yelped because I realized that we were a few blocks away from a school where I had seen my first SKILLZ Street graduation.  From there, we knew the way home.  It was a minor accomplishment, but it made me realize that I was gathering experiences and a starting to recognize places and make associations between the two.   It showed me that this place was becoming seemingly less foreign as it used to be, and that I, too, was learning the nuances.  It’s crazy to me that it has already been three months, or a quarter of the way, through my year here.  But little triumphs like that make me feel more confident for the months to come that Port Elizabeth may actually become more like home than I ever thought.